


Tempus Fugit

by Draconifors



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Multi, Polyamory, SLYTHERIN REDEMPTION ARC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-30 20:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6438853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draconifors/pseuds/Draconifors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <span>Harry and Hermione are back for their eight year at Hogwarts. Harry just wanted a peaceful year before being thrown into the bustle of adult life as the Saviour of the Wizarding World. Harry didn't often get what he wanted.</span>
  <br/>
  <span>Troubles with the Golden Trio, confusing Slytherins, new teachers, buried intrigues, and a crush that just won't go away. Sometimes, Harry misses the Forest of Dean. Constant attempts on his life were easier to deal with than all this mess.</span>
  <br/>
  <span>Between hesitant friendships and reparations, an attempt on Draco Malfoy's life might be the thing that will make or break the fragile balance that's keeping the Eight years banded together. Can the young veterans discover the truth, with a meddling Ministry and old wounds interfering, or is this the end for the Malfoy scion, and whatever truce has been forged between old and new?</span>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Second Reckoning of Sorts

 

The day before eight year was supposed to start, Harry was wondering whether being the Golden Saviour of the Wizarding World was enough to protect him from Hermione Granger’s wrath and secure him a safe trip to a faraway place, like America. Or Antarctica. He wasn’t really fussy, as long as it was _Not Here_.

            “ _Harry James Potter._  You will  _not_  run away to some obscure country, and you will most definitely  _not_ get away with this.” Hermione hissed, a hand tightly grasping his thigh under the table.

            Wincing only slightly and trying to remember Snape’s Occlumency lessons, Harry continued buttering his toast while trying to convince Molly Weasley that nothing was wrong, that everything was just  _peachy_  between the Golden Trio. His cheeks were starting to hurt from all the smiling, and he was sure he’d have five little bruises on his thigh, perfectly aligned with Hermione’s fingers.

            “The curtains look wonderful, Mrs. Weasley. I think yellow is a much better colour.” Harry said, determinedly ignoring Hermione huffing next to him. On his other side, Ron was busy pretending his kippers were especially interesting this morning. Ron always thought his kippers were interesting, but didn’t usually look like they might hold the answer to life’s important questions. Things were a bit chilly between him and Hermione and Harry ever since he made the decision to not accompany the two of them to Australia to retrieve Hermione’s parents. The fact that his and Hermione’s relationship hadn’t lasted the summer did not help, and while Harry would have liked to pretend that he was stuck between Ron and Hermione, he knew that it was really Hermione and him against Ron.

            “Why, thank you Harry!” Mrs. Weasley beamed. “No one else has noticed. I thought we needed a change.”  _After the war_  went unspoken, but everyone knew that was what it meant. Harry kicked Hermione under the table, and barely resisted heaving a sigh of relief when she finally let go of his thigh. He started thinking that owners do start taking after their pets after a while, because she had definitely been channeling Crookshanks.

            “It really does look very nice, Mrs. Weasley. Yellow is a very peaceful colour.” Hermione added, smiling brightly at Mrs. Weasley all while kicking Harry back to let him know she was not so easily deterred. He hadn't expected anything less, but he had still harboured a little sliver of hope. The tiniest sliver ever.

            “Enough about my curtains,” laughed Mrs. Weasley. “Hurry up so you can go to Diagon Alley! You told me you still had some school shopping left to do.”

            “You’re right, we really should be off if we don't want to spend all day waiting in lines.” Hermione stood up, tugging at Harry’s arm. Before the latter could protest, she cut him off. “You’ve been buttering the same piece of toast for ten minutes. You’re really not going to eat it.”

            With the most dignified huff he could muster, Harry put his knife back on the table and got up, stuffing his toast in his mouth just to prove Hermione wrong. After telling the Weasleys goodbye, Hermione and he walked outside to the border of the wards so they could apparate to Diagon Alley. No words were exchanged between them until they were walking through the crowd on Diagon Alley.

            “I can’t  _believe_  you told Ron he was an arsehole! You know what he’s been through!” Instead of gripping his thigh, Hermione had a hold of his arm, and Harry was grateful that at least she was switching it up.

            “I know what he’s been through,  _I was there_.” Harry hissed back, half because he didn’t want to be heard in spite of the Muffliato charm, half because he wanted to prove he could hiss, too. “I was there when he lost Fred, I was there when Molly wouldn’t do anything because she was grieving so much, I was there all along. The problem is that he’s not willing to do the same for us. He didn’t come with us to Australia to get your parents back – and don't give me that load of bull about how he does not like long-distance Portkeys. If that were it, we could have found a solution. He just couldn’t be bothered to care. You know what he did while we were in Australia? He moped around his room and snapped at whoever talked to him. Ginny only saw him come down twice. He only came to see Teddy once, because it makes him uncomfortable to see how others have lost loved ones in the war. Do you think Andromeda’s not grieving the loss of her husband and daughter? Ron thinks that if he doesn’t look at anyone else, he can ignore the fact that he’s been a selfish prick. Because of Voldemort, I’ve lost almost everyone I’ve ever loved.  I’ve lost my parents, I’ve lost Sirius, I’ve lost Remus, and I’ve almost lost Hagrid. He might never see again, and he sure as hell won’t be able to take care of his creatures. My life has been a fucking series of obituaries, but I go on. Life does not stop with grief, as much as we wish it could. I know what grief feels like. You know what grief feels like. At least half of Wizarding society knows what grief feels like. Now he thinks that by never going back to Hogwarts, he can just pretend his brother wasn’t killed there. Even George is starting to smile again.” Somewhere during his speech, they had sat down in Fortescue’s, their half-melted ice creams more for show than anything. It was the first time he had voiced everything that bothered him about Ron, and it was… cathartic. He hadn’t realized how much it had bothered him that Ron was stuck in his own world and unwilling to grab the hands Hermione and he were reaching out to him.

            “I know all that, Harry,” Hermione sighed, intertwining her fingers with Harry’s. “I also agree with most of it. It… really hurt when he didn’t come with us to see my parents. Still, I think this is just his way of grieving. My breaking up with him probably hasn’t helped him, but it couldn’t be helped. I don't think we could have ever worked out, even if he wasn’t grieving. I can’t say I agree with his decision not to come back for eight year, though.” Hermione was fiddling with her hair, a habit she’d picked up during all the trials they’d had to attend, which meant that she was thinking a lot more than she let on.

            “But…?” Harry prompted, knowing that Hermione only hesitated when she thought her opinion was wrong, or too harsh.

            “But I think it is for the best. This is harsh, but honestly I don’t think our seeing him every day at Hogwarts would have been very… healthy. It would simply have fostered resentment, and while our friendship is on the rocks right now, if we’d been forced to watch him for a whole year, I think our friendship would have been impossible to ever fix. Ron would just have been a bigger prick because he couldn’t spend his days at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, while we would have been increasingly frustrated that he was unwilling to recover. Harry, his behaviour is not our fault. We tried to help him, and it didn’t work. He’s an adult, and, even though he’s behaving like a child, we need to treat him like an adult. He is responsible for his decisions.”

            “I know. It’s just that we were all so close and now we’re just… breaking apart. I just wish we were still us, you know? The unbreakable Golden Trio. The best of friends. It’s like seven years meant nothing." Harry muttered, absent-mindedly rubbing his scar. Any further confessions were interrupted by a soft peal of laughter, remarkable by its lightness. Both he and Hermione turned to see what this new disturbance was.

            Two tables away, three young people laden with shopping bags were quietly chuckling amongst themselves, eyes crinkled almost shut with mirth. After piling all their bags in one of the booths, two of them slipped into the bench on the other side of the table, the third going to order their ice creams.

             “Malfoy, Zabini and Parkinson. I didn’t think we were so unlucky.” Harry grumbled under his breath, unconsciously sinking lower in his chair. He didn’t miss Hermione rolling her eyes at him, and he also didn’t miss the opportunity to very accidentally kick her under the table while rearranging himself.

             “Oh, let it go, Harry. I would’ve expected that from Ron, not from you.” Harry blinked, both because that stung a bit, and because Hermione had pinched him, which also stung. It was another habit she’d picked up; she was very physical with her disapproval. “They’re just trying to eat some bloody ice cream. Can’t you see some of these people look like they want to  _Crucio_  them?” Startled, Harry looked around. Hermione was right; several of the other patrons of Fortescue’s looked absolutely murderous. Surprised by such an open display of animosity, and properly abashed by Hermione's observations, he looked back at Hermione.

             “Can’t say I like them, but they deserve to live in peace. Why’d you reckon all these people look like they’re out for blood? Malfoy and Parkinson were pardoned, mostly thanks to us, I reckon, and Zabini was never accused of anything.” Harry absentmindedly ate a spoonful of ice-cream – today was banana – and looked at Malfoy, who was at the counter speaking with Fortescue the Youngest. Harry hadn't known Florean had a daughter, but she'd taken over the shop a month after her father was killed by Voldemort. He didn't know what her name was, but she looked cheery and made great ice-cream, which was good enough for him. Malfoy and Fortescue were laughing together, which surprised Harry. He hadn’t seen Malfoy laugh like that in a long time, and he didn't question why he was keeping track of Malfoy's laughs. While Harry was busy watching, he saw Fortescue scoop four enormous scoops of chocolate ice-cream into a bowl and stick three spoons in. When Malfoy took out his wallet to pay, Fortescue waved him away, saying something that obviously surprised Malfoy. With a brilliant smile, Malfoy reached over the counter to clasp Fortescue's shoulder, and grabbed the ice-cream bowl with both hands to carry it back to his table.

            Harry blinked and realized that Hermione had been speaking but was now glaring at him, fingers dangerously tight around her spoon. He didn't  _really_  think Hermione would stab him with a spoon in a heavily populated area, but he leaned back anyway because he also hadn't thought that Ron would ever not be his friend, so obviously his judgment wasn't the best. It was while he was leaning back that he saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Malfoy had gotten back to his table and was setting the ice-cream in front of Zabini, who was sitting in the middle of the bench. Parkinson was in the back, with her back against the wall and her legs in Zabini's lap. Harry was sure that Malfoy would tell her to move her feet so he could sit, because her blue high heels were dangling over exactly where a third person would sit. He was surprised to see that Malfoy instead simply lifted her feet up, sat down, and laid them back in his lap, letting a hand rest on Parkinson's ankle. Each of the three Slytherins picked up a spoon and started eating their ice-cream. Harry realized he spent a lot of time being surprised where the three Slytherins were concerned. He also realized, seeing the three of them eating ice-cream and talking, that he should be engaging in those particular activities, too.

            "Harry, are you going to start stalking Malfoy again, or have you been staring because you think he has a nice arse?" Hermione looked on with interest as Harry choked on his ice-cream. "I mean, objectively he probably does have a nice arse, but you've been ogling him ever since he came in, and I’m rather sure Parkinson and Zabini noticed." Harry was now looking like a deer in the headlights of a particularly fast-approaching car, and he tried to recover some of his dignity.

            "I am simply curious as to how he has been coping with this post-Voldemort existence in our society," he said with a sniff. "It is preposterous that you would accuse me of engaging in stalking activities."

            "Using big words is not going to convince me, Harry. Nor is your sniffing and haughty affect. The fact that you've dripped ice-cream all over the table while ignoring me and blatantly staring at Malfoy is enough.” Hermione rolled her eyes as Harry stopped himself from spluttering indignantly only because it would have betrayed his acting. "But as I was  _saying_  before a certain blond caught your attention, a lot of people think they got off easy. The Malfoys haven't been very popular after the war, and some people want to see Malfoy in Azkaban. They've been skeptical of his allegiance, and some think he's just waiting for the occasion to finish the job Voldemort started. As for Parkinson, they're not taking it well that she wanted to offer you up to Voldemort. Some also have something against her personality. Zabini is simply included because he's with them. I am pretty sure a lot of people weren't even aware he existed before this, because he's kept quiet, mostly."

            "What do  _you_ think, 'Mione?"

             “I think they did whatever they had to do.”

            With that ambiguous response, the discussion about the three Slytherins petered down, and Hermione and Harry started talking about the upcoming year. As far as Hermione knew, it was the first time that Hogwarts had an eight year, so they didn’t know what to expect. They only knew that, of the Gryffindors, Neville, Dean and Seamus would be coming back. Hermione was surprised that Parvati wouldn’t be coming back, but she understood that not everyone was ready to go back to Hogwarts, especially since she’d just lost her best friend. It would mean that there would be only five Gryffindor eight years. They didn't know about the other Houses, but Harry thought that there would be even less people, because Gryffindor had been the most affected House during the war, with many unable to finish their studies. They also talked about their classes, with Hermione being much more excited at the prospect of another year of school. She’d already started studying for her N.E.W.T.s, which didn’t surprise Harry. The two of them were relaxed, trying to enjoy the last day of rest before the term started.

            Harry saw Hermione's eyes widen just moments before a hand grasped his shoulder. Turning his head around, he saw Zabini looming over him, all sharp angles and tailored suit. Zabini bent down until his face was close to Harry’s.

             “I know Draco’s good-looking, but I’d appreciate it if you could keep your eyes off my boyfriend’s arse, all right?” Zabini was smiling, but he was showing too many teeth for it to be somehow misinterpreted as friendly. While Harry was spluttering, Zabini straightened, and with a polite nod and a “Granger”, he left as quickly as he had appeared, joining Parkinson and Malfoy, who were waiting for him at the shop’s door.

            Hermione, to her credit, didn’t actually say anything, but her raised eyebrows and sudden interest in her ice-cream, barely touched until then, told Harry more than a resounding “I told you so.” He groaned and dropped his head in his hands.  _Boyfriend?_ _  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And when the days that followed past  
> In another mansion built to last  
> From our window we could see  
> Only possibilities  
> Down the road and back
> 
> But, then the storm returned for more  
> In a comedown of revolving doors  
> Auctioned off our memories  
> In the absence of a breeze  
> Scatter what remains
> 
> "Speed the Collapse" - Metric


	2. Another Day in History

 

                Harry stared blearily at his tea. He’d slept fitfully the night before, and was looking forward to the train ride back to Hogwarts only because it meant several hours of sleep. it is not like he’d been sleeping particularly peacefully for the past year, but he could usually get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. He couldn’t say what had disturbed his sleep this time, but he reckoned it was yesterday’s encounter in Fortescue’s. He was the first to admit that he wasn’t very perceptive. People changed haircuts, stairways moved, _things happened_ and he was usually the last to notice. Over the years, Hermione had had to grab him several times before he walked off a stairway that he could’ve _sworn_ was there just two seconds before. Whenever he did end up noticing things, it was often because Hermione was hissing something at him. Still, Harry felt that he would have known if two of the most noticeable Slytherins were dating. That was a pretty big _thing,_ no? Since when were Zabini and Malfoy dating? With a groan, he let his head drop to the table.

                “Harry, dear, what’s wrong?” asked Molly, glancing at him with some concern.

                “Ignore him. He’s having an existential crisis, nothing worth worrying about, really” answered Hermione, who, for her part, looked well-rested and was slathering her toast with jam.

                Other than Harry, Hermione and Molly, only Ginny and George were down in the kitchen. Arthur had left for work earlier, and Percy was away on some Important Business Trip – the capitalization had been noticeable whenever he'd spoken of it. Charlie had returned to Romania about a month after the battle, saying that he couldn’t let his dragons alone for too long, and Bill was at Shell Cottage with Fleur. Ron was notable by his absence.

                The remainder of breakfast was relatively uneventful, Ginny and Hermione’s quiet conversation being the only sound in the room. They made only one attempt to include Harry and George, but the former had only raised his head from the table long enough to stuff breakfast into his mouth, while the latter was reading over some business proposition for Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. He’d thrown himself into the shop after his twin’s death, and their enterprise was flourishing more than ever. There was even talk of opening up another shop in Hogsmeade. It seemed that children still had to be amused, even while a nation was grieving and their siblings’ graves were still fresh, and George was more than happy to provide that distraction.

                When it was time to leave, Harry, Ginny and Hermione brought their bags down from their rooms, and kissed Molly and George goodbye, with numerous promises to write, and to stay out of trouble. For the first time since starting at Hogwarts, Harry thought there was an actual chance of that happening.

                Ron surprised everyone when he came down at the last minute to wish them a good year at Hogwarts. He had trouble making eye contact with Harry and Hermione, but they both appreciated the effort, with Hermione mouthing _I told you so_ to Harry. Hermione often mouthed _I told you so_ to anyone who would listen, but mostly to Harry.

                The trip to King's Cross was relatively uneventful, Harry, Hermione and Ginny having little to talk about, as they'd stayed under the same roof for part of the summer. Harry and Hermione had only left to go to Australia, and Ginny had spent part of the summer with Luna and Neville. They'd become fast friends during the last year at Hogwarts, and Harry knew that Luna had to go check on her father, who’d been imprisoned during the war and who’d become something of a recluse after his release from Azkaban. Then, they'd spent two weeks camping and travelling through the Galloway Forest. Nobody had begrudged them the time away from a still-grieving society, as they'd lived through horrors most adults couldn't even fathom.

 

                "There's more people than last year," Ginny quietly commented when they reached Platform 9 3/4. "I didn't think we'd even fill the tables in the Great Hall. It'll be a welcome sight." She looked somber, and her hand had unconsciously risen to her right shoulder. It had bothered her ever since she'd been struck with a thrown boulder, during the final battle. The healers at Saint Mungo’s had said that she'd probably never regain full range of motion, as the rock had been channeling an unknown mixture of spells when it'd hit her.

 

                "Do you want to look around for a bit or should we grab a compartment?" asked Harry, fidgeting uncomfortably under the insistent gazes of the crowd. No one had approached him to thank him yet, but that had more to do with the very subtle disillusionment charm he'd cast on himself. It didn't hide him, it just made people's eyes slide over him, unless they were specifically looking for him. Which a lot of people on the platform were. It wasn't a particularly useful charm, but he tried.

 

                "Hermione and you can go, I'll go find Neville and Luna and we'll come to your compartment." With that, Ginny walked off, luggage in tow and red hair bobbing behind her. She'd cut her hair during the summer, and it was now a short bob that just reached her jaw. It made her look older, emphasizing her strong jaw and determined eyes. None of them needed haircuts to look older than their years.

 

                "Guess we'll go in, then." Hermione grabbed her luggage in one hand and Harry's hand in the other and climbed in the train. They were the first ones to climb aboard, and grabbed a compartment towards the end of the train. After putting their trunks up, Harry and Hermione sat down on one side of the compartment.

 

                "Who do you think we'll have as teachers, 'Mione? McGonagall is Headmistress now, she probably won't be teaching Transfigurations anymore," said Harry, head lolling against the headrest, looking at Hermione out of the corner of his eye.

 

                "She might teach one semester until a suitable replacement is found, it’s hard to know," mused Hermione. She'd pulled her feet up on the bench and was leaning against Harry. "But you’re right. There'll be a lot of changes in the staff. Flitwick is probably still going to teach Charms, because I've been told he's pretty much recovered. Most of the teachers are in good enough shape to teach, actually. Still... We already know Hagrid is not going to teach. We'll need a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, too. Maybe there will finally be a teacher that occupies a more permanent position."

 

                "We also need a new Potions master. I really doubt Slughorn is going to stay. He's probably going to disappear and retire for good now. Make a more convincing sofa, maybe. I don’t know that I blame him, honestly." Harry ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up. It wasn't that different from his usual hairstyle, if he was honest. Hermione hummed in agreement.

 

                At that moment, Ginny, Neville and Luna walked in. They all looked well, considering the circumstances. Neville had a very noticeable scar across his face, from under the left eye to his right ear, courtesy of a stray Diffindo spell during the final battle. Harry knew he had many other scars, but it at least didn't look like they bothered him too much. He carried himself with a confidence he didn't have two years ago, and this confidence made his scar look like a badge of honour, instead of a blemish. He'd kept his hair short, and it made him look positively rakish. Luna, for her part, still had her long, flowing hair. Today she'd braided pink and red lilies and peonies into it, which matched the dragonfly earrings that were dangling from her ears. She smiled brightly at Harry and Hermione, and Harry could almost ignore the merrily decorated cane she was leaning on. Looking around the train compartment, Harry was overcome with emotion: they’d all gone through so much that having his friends with him, on the train to Hogwarts, was a wonderful thing.

 

                Neville broke Harry’s quiet moment of reflection by moving in for a rib-crushing hug, clapping him on the back. Hermione went to Luna and hugged her tightly. Ginny looked on and smiled, lifting the trunks up to the shelves above the seats.

 

                “The flowers are wonderful, Luna,” Hermione quietly told her, gently holding one of the lily petals between her fingers. With a smile, Luna reached up and plucked one out of her hair and fixed it into Hermione’s curly bun. For his part, Harry grinned at Neville and told him how glad he was to see him, before moving on to hug Luna while Hermione went to Neville.

 

                “Don’t I get a flower too?” Harry joked, holding Luna’s shoulders."You look great," he softly added. It was great to see them again, even if they all were living memorials. He guessed there weren’t many people who weren’t at this point, at least among his friends.

 

                “Your hair is certainly getting long enough to braid flowers into it, Harry. I could try if you wanted to!” Luna reached up and mussed Harry’s hair, laughing. It was true that he’d let his hair grow over the summer, and it now almost brushed his shoulders. Cutting his hair was just not something that had seemed very important, and he had to admit it was also because it reminded him of Sirius, some days.

 

                “Alright,” Harry laughed. “I put my hair into your hands. Make me the prettiest at the Sorting Ceremony.”

 

                At that moment, they heard the train’s whistle, and moved to sit down. Ginny plopped down on one side of the carriage, while Luna and Neville sat on the other side of the compartment. Hermione bid them all farewell and went to the Prefects’ carriage. She had been named Head Girl, and had to go instruct the new Prefects on their duties. Harry plopped down on the floor in front of Luna and shook his hair at her. Luna’s nimble fingers through his hair and his friends’ quiet conversation relaxed him, and he quietly dozed for most of the train ride, back resting on Luna’s legs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may be long to get me there  
> It feels like I've been everywhere  
> But someday I'll be coming home  
> Round and round the world will spin  
> Oh, the circle never ends  
> So you know that I'll be coming home
> 
> John Legend – "Coming Home" 


	3. No Smoke in the Sky

            The train rolled slowly into Hogsmeade Station and the group prepared to get out of the train. Harry was still a bit drowsy, having dozed for most of the ride, but he was glad to see Hogwarts once again, up in the distance. His heart hurt that Hagrid wouldn’t be there to welcome them, though. He made himself a promise to go visit him as quickly as possible.

            Since he’d been a bit slower than the rest, Harry was the last of their group of five, Hermione having joined them sometime during the ride. Stifling a yawn, he started going down the stairs, putting a foot down. 

            And missed the step.

            Harry had a brief moment of panic – _I have my hands in my pockets. Why did I do that?_ – before he felt a strong hand catch him by the shoulder and steady him. He made sure he had both feet on solid ground before turning around to thank his saviour.

            “Thanks!” Harry turned around, and any other words of thanks he had died in his throat when he came face to face with Draco Malfoy, staring at him with a mixture of amusement and boredom. Harry coughed with embarrassment, a hand rubbing at his neck. When his hand touched the flowers in his hair, he remembered he had a head full of pink flowers and braids. _Great._

            “No problem, Potter. Nice flowers.” Malfoy smirked and went down the stairs, all sharp angles and tailored suit, before turning around and giving Parkinson his hand. Of course _he_ didn’t trip.

            Harry turned around to meet up with Hermione, but not before he got a good look at Malfoy, Parkinson and Zabini, who’d been standing behind Parkinson in the train. Harry had to admit that Malfoy looked even better up close. His platinum hair was held back in a loose ponytail, and it looked good on him. It made his cheekbones stand out, and his pale grey eyes were striking. It didn’t help that it seemed he’d grown a couple of inches over the summer, and now looked down on Harry. Parkinson and Zabini looked just as good, and he was sure their outfits, all monochromatic, cost more than most people made in a month. The three of them looked like they’d come out of the pages of one of Petunia’s fashion magazines.

            “Harry…” Hermione started warningly, “You’re doing the staring thing again.” She grabbed his elbow and pulled him to one of the waiting carriages. Luna, Ginny and Neville were already sitting in it, and Ginny was laughing. Harry didn’t miss the way Luna was leaning on Neville. Good for them.

            “Your crush on Malfoy is so obvious, Harry. I was sure you’d turn bright red when you remembered you had flowers in your hair.” She snorted, shaking her head.

            “Ginny… Please don’t start.” Harry sighed and plopped down into the carriage. The thestrals didn’t get a second glance that day.

            “You could try talking to him, Harry. It might help,” Luna piped up, looking at him.

            “That’s true, mate. Have you tried actually talking to the bloke? It’s bound to be more helpful than you quietly pining away after him.” Neville added. All his friends seemed determined to make him  as uncomfortable as possible, apparently. Harry didn’t even look at Hermione, sitting next to him. He already knew she’d have a smug look on her face. Harry sighed as the carriage moved on slowly.

            “What am I supposed to tell him?” exclaimed Harry, exasperated. “ _Yeah, Malfoy, I know we spent seven years hating each other and you’re in a relationship, but I think you’ve a really nice face. I’m pretty sure I don’t even like you. Want to snog?_ That’s bound to go over _very_ well. I do not even know which of them would hex me first. He’s dashing but he’s still _Malfoy_. I don’t even _like_ him.” He groaned and slid down lower into his seat. “Can you just… drop it, please?”

            Neville raised his hands in surrender, while the three girls thoughtfully looked at him.  

            “Alright, Harry, alright. We’ll drop it. You know we just want what’s best for you.”

            “I know, Luna. Thanks, but… it would never work, so it would be more productive to just let me get over this, alright?” He raised a hand, ready to rake it through his hair, before remembering his hair was currently a piece of art and dropping it back into his lap.

            “What do you think the Sorting Hat’s song will be, this year? Last year’s was rather depressing, although apt for the circumstances, I guess.” Ginny mused, twirling her wand in her fingers.

            “I'm more curious as to how it’ll sort students.” Hermione added, and Harry nodded along. “Will there still be equal numbers of students going into each House, or is the Hat going to compensate for the students lost in the war and fill those spaces up first? We could end up with more first year students from a certain House.”

            “I hadn’t thought of that. That’s true.” Neville hummed in agreement. “I guess we’ll see in a short while. The carriage’s slowing down.”

            Neville was right: they’d gotten to Hogwarts, and the five of them got out of the carriage. Harry looked around at the hundreds of students gathered there, and got in line to enter the Great Hall. He spotted McGonagall standing near the door, and nodded at her. She nodded back and continued looking out at the students, a tall, proud figure. She would make a great Headmistress, Harry was sure of it.

            They got to the Great Hall, and Harry bumped into Hermione, who’d suddenly stopped in front of him.

            “What’s wrong, ‘Mione?” Harry asked, looking at her worriedly. Hermione just pointed at the Great Hall, and Harry had his breath taken away.

            They’d… redecorated. There were no longer four House tables. Instead, there were about six or seven round tables scattered throughout the hall, with Hogwart’s banner hanging above them. Each table could sit about forty or fifty students. If he hadn’t seen the four House hourglasses in the Entrance Hall, Harry would have been convinced that McGonagall had gotten rid of the four Houses. Hermione, who’d quickly recovered, grabbed his hand and dragged him to one of the tables closest to the staff’s table, where Dean and Seamus were already sitting, with some other younger Gryffindors. Hagrid was already sitting at the staff’s table, a large cane propped up on the table next to him, and dark sunglasses on his face. Harry’s heart ached at seeing his friend.

            While they were walking up to their chosen table, Harry saw that Malfoy, Zabini and Parkinson were already sitting at one of the tables, with Nott, Bulstrode and Goyle. Their table was already almost full with… Second Years? From all the four Houses. _Huh._ He noticed none of them were sitting too close to Goyle, though. _Wonder what that’s about._ The Second Years didn’t look uncomfortable, so it was unlikely the Eighth Years had intruded on them. Some of them were even happily chatting away with Nott and Malfoy. _That’s strange._

            “Harry, mate, it is good to see you! You too, Hermione!” Dean yelled at them when they were about five meters away, rising up to greet them. Seamus was also smiling at them.

            “Dean, Seamus, You are looking good.” Harry grinned, moving in for a rib-crushing hug from Dean. They did look good, considering the circumstances. Their cheeks were a bit more sunken, and they still looked _so_ tired. Still, they were here and they were _alive_.  “How’ve you been? I didn’t hear much from you after you said you were going to Ireland. How did that go?” Harry was looking at both Seamus and Dean. He’d tried to keep in touch with most of his friends during the summer, more so than during previous summers.

            “It was good. Nice seeing my mum again, that’s sure. We spent part of the summer with my family. They all love Dean, even though I keep telling them he’s too annoying for it to last.” Seamus grinned, and didn’t even try to avoid Dean’s playful punch. “I mean, mum already liked him but now he met a bunch of my cousins and aunts and uncles.”

            “Then we went to see my mum over in America. She thinks that she’ll be bringing my siblings back to England sometime during the year, depending on whether my step-dad’s job will let him move again. All the kids liked Seamus, my little sister especially. Why, though, I haven’t the faintest idea.” Dean grinned, and elbowed Seamus.

            At this point, they were all sitting down, and their table was slowly filling up. Ginny, Neville and Luna had come over sometime during the conversation, and there were also all the other Eighth Years: Susan Bones, Michael Corner, Hannah Abbott, Anthony Goldstein and Ernie MacMillan. There were less students coming back than Harry would have hoped, but it was better than nothing. It didn’t escape his notice that Slytherin would have the most Eighth Years at Hogwarts.

            A hush fell over the Hall. Harry looked around and noticed that everyone had a seat, and the Sorting Hat sat upon its stool at the front of the Hall.

 

“Centuries ago, in a House just built

I sung to students, bold and bright,

Cunning and loyal, all full with delight,

And today I sing again, in a house rebuilt.

 

Some of you have heard me warn

Against our Houses divided.

And here you sit, with your souls worn

With those with whom you’ve sided.

 

Look around and tell me now,

The colours that you wear

And tell me, if you can, how

They do not match your friends’.

 

In the heat of battle you have learned

That we all bleed the same,

That trust and loyalty are earned,

And more important than fame.

 

And now once more I must divide

For that is what I am for

But take my advice in stride

And listen well before I sing some more:

 

Though your robes are different colours,

You are all here to learn

Among your sisters and your brothers

And for truth you all do yearn.

 

If Hufflepuff is where you belong

Wear the yellow and be proud

For you are loyal and you are strong,

And you’ll help to heal this crowd.

 

If Ravenclaw is on your heart,

Hold your head up high,

For your quick wit sets you apart,

And we’ll need it when things go awry.

 

If you are a red Gryffindor,

Your daring makes you stand out.

Go on, let me hear you roar,

For you’ll assuage our doubt.

 

If Slytherin is your House,

Straighten up and be filled with pride

For your cunning has been roused

And your members will be our guides.

 

Worry not for you’ll be strong

Each and everyone one of you

For this is the home where you belong

And to it you will stay true.”

 

            Sometime during the Hat’s song, Hermione had reached over and grabbed Harry’s hand, and he tightened his hold on it when the song finished. People around them were clapping, with some even standing up to cheer. Harry grinned and let go of Hermione’s hand to clap with the crowd. It was one of the nicest songs of the Hat, over the years.

            He chanced a glance at the tables around. From what he could tell, most of the older students, the ones likely to have participated most in the war or seen more of it than the younger ones, were standing up and clapping. From the First Years, all standing together near the front, most looked puzzled at how enthusiastic some students were, but they were all clapping. At the Slytherin and Second Years table, all were standing and clapping, although Malfoy wasn’t smiling, deep in thought.

            McGonagall let the clapping die down a bit before standing up from the Headmistress’ seat. Silence fell quickly when students saw her rise.

            “First years, please step forward. The moment has come for you to be sorted into your House. I will put this hat upon your head," and here she raised up the Sorting Hat," and it will tell you the House you will be part of for the next seven years. Your house will be your first resource and your main source of support. With that, please step up to the stool when I call your name. ” she announced, before taking out the list of names.

  
            “Atkinson, Fiona!”

            A tiny thing of a girl quickly walked to the Sorting Hat, her dark braids bobbing behind her. McGonagall smiled at her and put the Hat on her head. It took a few seconds, but the Hat cried out “Slytherin!” in a strong, booming voice.

            Harry started clapping and was surprised when quite a lot of students started booing her, especially fourth and fifth years. Next to him, Hermione frowned and looked around to find someone to glare at. Quickly though, the boos were drowned out by loud cheering and clapping, and Harry saw that all the students at Malfoy’s table, including the Second Years from the other Houses, as well as all the Slytherins around the Hall, had stood up and started cheering for Atkinson, as well as a few isolated students from the other tables. Hermione and he also stood up and clapped.

            Atkinson had looked close to crying when people had started booing her, and she was still sitting on the stool, tightly clutching the seat with white knuckles. When it didn’t look like she was going to get up, McGonagall, frowning at the assembly, started towards her. Parkinson beat her to it, however, which was impressive, considering she’d been sitting almost all the way across the hall. Harry was sitting too far away to hear what the raven-haired Slytherin, crouched in front of the stool and ignoring the rest of the students, whispered to the eleven year old, but it seemed to have the desired effect, as the young student looked at Parkinson with wide eyes and gave a determined nod. Parkinson gave her a red-lipped smile, which was shakily returned. Atkinson got up and started walking to Parkinson’s table. When they got there, she hesitated, as there was only one seat left. Parkinson prodded her into it, and remained standing behind her, glaring at everyone who even dared to look askance at her or her new protegee.

            “I would appreciate if you would refrain from such distasteful displays of disrespect. I expected better from all of you, especially those of you who were here previous years. It is not worthy of Hogwarts students, and punishment will be forthcoming for whoever engages in such behaviour again.” McGonagall said sharply, a large frown on her face.

            “She should punish them right now, I reckon.” Harry hissed to Hermione. “The kid’s eleven!”

            “Hard to punish half the school now, though, is it not?" Hermione muttered back, frowning. “I agree though."

            McGonagall frowned at the students assembled, as if to discourage further displays like it, and resumed naming the first years. After all the new students had been sorted, she gave them a couple of minutes to settle down. Hermione’s question had been answered: there had been equal amounts of students sent to each House, regardless of the total number of students. No other Slytherins were booed, but  the Hall was noticeably quieter whenever a new student was added to Salazar’s House. Harry frowned at that, and noticed that he and his friends would clap louder to compensate.

            All ten new Slytherin students sat at Malfoy’s table, with the Eight years and four of the other older Slytherins standing up to make space for them. Harry noticed that it was the only House where all the new students sat at the same table, and they were already quietly discussing amongst themselves. The oldest Slytherins looked like they were standing guard, faces stern and heads high when meeting the other Houses’ gazes, but quietly smiling whenever the youngest ones looked up at them. The other Houses’ First years were scattered throughout the Hall, with only one Gryffindor First year sitting at Harry’s table. From what he saw, she was the younger sibling of a Third or Fourth year Ravenclaw sitting with them. From what he could see, the three Houses’ First years looked more intimidated and spoke less than the Slytherins’, and Harry wondered at that. He was just about to turn and share his observation with Hermione when McGonagall cleared her throat and stood up.

            “Your attention please.” She began, strong voice carrying over to all the students. “As you all likely know, this school was the battlefront of the Second Wizarding War. Here, people fought bravely, giving their all to defeat Voldemort. For some, that meant giving their lives.” As Voldemort’s name was mentioned, Harry saw some people flinching, mostly younger students. “His name has no power, for he has been defeated within these walls. Staff and volunteers have done their best to rebuild this school in time for the start of the year, but the war has left its marks. For this reason,  please avoid the moving staircases, as well as most shortcuts through the walls. Furthermore, most of the sixth floor, as well as the armoury room, is out of bounds for all students. First years students should avoid the north part of the third floor and, as always, the Forbidden Forest is forbidden to unsupervised students.” She paused, looking over at the students, who were waiting for the rest of her speech with bated breath.

            “Because of the War, some of our staff is now unable to continue with their duties. For that reason, I will be presenting the new staff. Professor Grubby-Plank will once more be taking over the Care of Magical Creatures Class. She has taught this class at Hogwarts before, and results were positive. Please welcome her.” Grubby-Plank stood up and bowed at the students, a quiet smile lighting up her face. Students clapped for her, with some who’d had her as a substitute standing up and cheering. Harry clapped along, but his heart hurt at the implication that Hagrid wouldn’t be teaching anymore. He’d expected this but… the confirmation saddened him. Still, Grubby-Plank was a good teacher. It was nice seeing her again.

            “For Defence Against The Dark Arts, we are welcoming Professor Huerta-Morales. She has taught Defence Against the Dark Arts for several years in America, and has come here as a personal favour. Please welcome her warmly.” At this, a tall woman stood up from the table and bowed, her long dark hair sweeping in front of her. Her dark eyes surveyed the room, and she did not smile. She acknowledged McGonagall’s introduction and the students’ claps with a quick nod and sat back down, back straight.

            “To replace Professor Burbage in teaching Muggle Studies, we welcome Professor Li. Professor Li has spent the past decade researching the interaction of Muggles and Wizards in various societies. Her exhaustive knowledge on Muggle Culture will make her an excellent teacher. Please welcome her.” The woman who stood up was a sharp contrast to Professor Huerta-Morales. She was just as tall, but her close-cropped hair made her look much younger, and she smiled at the students. Harry noticed that people clapped a bit louder for Professor Li than they’d done for Professor Huerta-Morales.

            Harry tuned out for most of the remaining professors. A frankly intimidating individual called LeBlanc for Arithmancy. A man called Dumisani for Potions. _Ha. I knew Slughorn wouldn’t stick around_. Magical Art would be taught by Suleiman. Harry didn’t even know there were Magical Art classes at Hogwarts. From Hermione’s knowing nod, she had known, but, as hard as he raked his thoughts, he couldn’t remember a single person he know taking Magical Art. McGonagall herself would teach Transfigurations.

            “With the new staff introduced, I would like to say that there will be a memorial built during the year to commemorate the fallen. It will be situated in the courtyard. All of you are welcome to submit ideas, as this memorial is meant as much for all of Hogwarts’ students as for the victims themselves. Furthermore, some staff portraits of the fallen have been painted over the summer. It is possible to find these in the Portrait Gallery on the first floor.”

            “With that, I wish you all a great feast. May this year be the best one yet.” With that said, McGonagall sat down in the middle of the Staff table, and food appeared on the tables. Harry had forgotten how hungry he was, not having eaten on the train, and quickly started piling food onto his plate.

            “Honestly, Harry, just because Ron isn’t here does not mean you should eat for two!” Ginny laughed from further down the table, sat comfortably between Luna and a Seventh Year Gryffindor Harry didn’t know.

            “No, see, Ginny, it’s the first Feast I’m actually only eating for one,” Harry replied, giving a hiss to make his point understood, and shoving food into his mouth, giving Ginny a tight-lipped smile. Ginny looked uncomfortable and picked up her fork, turning to Luna and making conversation.

            Hermione was quietly picking at her food, and had a pensive air on her face. When prompted for explanations, however, she just hummed in thought and quickly shoved a boiled potato in her mouth.

            There was not much talk during the meal, as it seemed that everyone was ravenous: people were all quietly eating and only occasionally remembering that, for the most part, they had not seen the person sitting next to them for the past two months.

            When everyone had finished, the tables were cleared and Prefects stood up to lead the Houses to their own dorms. Harry didn’t know the two Gryffindor Prefects, but then, that did not mean much. He honestly did not spend much time talking to the years below him, other than Ginny and Luna.

             “Hermione,” he started, an idea forming in his head. “Where are they gonna room us? There’s a full extra year, and the Seventh Year dormitories were on the top floor of the Tower.”

            “That is true. I hadn’t thought of that, mate.” Seamus piped up, and Dean nodded next to him.

            “They added an extra floor. It was part of the renovations,” Hermione answered, walking briskly to the front of the file. “Apparently, it was rather complicated. They had to tweak some of Hogwarts’ oldest spells, those that gave it its form.”

            “What about the other Houses’ dorm rooms?” Neville asked, having just run up to them after bidding Luna goodbye for the night. “I reckon Ravenclaw had the same thing happen, but then we’re both in towers. Reckon it is much easier to build up than it is to make extra room in common rooms like Hufflepuff’s and Slytherin’s.” The other Gryffindors nodded.

            “I... actually don’t know. I did not think to ask.” Hermione admitted, glancing over at them. “We can ask one of the staff tomorrow. The teachers are bound to know.”

            With that, they’d arrived at the Tower. The Fat Lady’s portrait was still guarding the Entrance, and she greeted them all with a cheery _Hello!_ , which most of the older students returned out of habit. Some of the first years looked confused, and Harry could not help but think that those were the Muggleborns.

            The portrait swung open, they all quietly filed into the common room and Hermione gave a speech that Harry didn’t listen to. When he saw that she’d stopped talking and that the students had started filing out, he bid goodnight to his friends, promised Hermione he’d be up early in the morning to go grab breakfast, and went up to his dorm.

            With a jaw-cracking yawn, Harry looked around his new rom, noticed it looked pretty similar to before and plopped into his bed. He was asleep within minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fight yet to come is not with cannon, nor will the fight be hand-to-hand  
> No one will regroup the forces, no charge will a general command.
> 
> The battle will rage in the bosom of mother and sweetheart and wife.  
> Brother and sister and daughter will grieve for the rest of their lives.  
> Now go ahead, rise from your cover, be thankful that God let you live.  
> Go fight the rest of the battle for those who gave all they could give.
> 
> I see sir the battle's not over, the battle has only begun”  
> Johnny Cash – The Big Battle

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfic ever! It should be updated every two weeks, ideally, unless college happens.
> 
> Tags will be added as the story progresses, so as to prevent spoilers~


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